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45
THE STARLING,
Or Nest-talk and Fear-talk.
Poor bird! why with such energy reproveMy presence? why that tone which pines and grieves?
At early dawn, thy sweet voice from the eaves
Hath gone between us oft, a voice of love,
A bond of peace. Why should I ever plot
Thy ruin, or thy fond affections baulk?
Dost thou not send me down thy happy talk
Even to my pillow, though thou seest me not?
How should I harm thee? yet thy timid eye
Is on me, and a harsh rebuke succeeds;
Not like the tender brooding note that pleads
Thy cause so well, so all-unconsciously;
Yet shall to-morrow's dawning hear thy strain
Renewed, and knit our indoor bond again.
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